Frank Picchione

Post Corner Pizza, Darien

We all went on a big family outing to Post Corner Pizza in Darien.  We have been going there for at least 20 years, and the pizza and Greek salad are as good now as they were then.

Dog Food

 Mia Farrow in her Genocide Olympics T-shirt.

 

Dog meat has been banished from all Beijing restaurant menus until after the Olympics in order to avoid offending Western sensibilities.  Does China think we are offended only because they eat their dogs?

Sono Seafood

Last Saturday Michele had to take Brooke and Tatum to a birthday party at three o'clock.  She said it was in South Norwalk at a children's party facility called My Gym, which happens to be directly across the street from one of my favorite restaurants in all the world, Sono Seafood.  The plan was to drop off the kids and wait out the party at the pier with a basket full of clams.  Back when I was a kid growing up in nearby Wilton South Norwalk was a place we would not (or would) be caught dead in.  But over the years South Norwalk has been restored into the charming old New England seaside village it once was.  It is now an historic, quaint and a trendy destination, hence the nickname Sono, as the locals call it, as a play on the many abbreviated New York City neighborhoods.

 

Of course we arrived ten minutes early, so we got a good parking space and wasted time until we could dump the girls and hit the docks.  At precisely three o'clock we entered the deserted My Gym, and Michele, sharp as a tack, told the friendly proprietor that we are a bit early for so and so's party.  I smelled a rat because we were not a bit early.  We were right on time, and the birthday boy was not even present.  Okay, wrong place.  We were supposed to be ten minutes away at The Little Gym.  I was furious.  "Does this mean I don't get my fried clams?"  That is all I cared about.  Those monsters could just as well have skipped the birthday party and joined us for a late lunch.  Michele was not having it, and she was making no promises about returning after dropping the girls at the correct destination.

 

Ah, my lucky day.  Because we did return.  It was just as I remembered.  Sono Seafood is no high class eatery.  It is a joint overlooking some inlet off Long Island Sound.  Highways in plain view.  But I find the atmosphere to be exactly as it should be.  Picnic tables, umbrellas, cold beer and lots of fried seafood.  Keep in mind please, that I never ever eat fried food unless it is a special occasion, and my being back there after many years was just the celebratory excuse I needed.  The service rocked.  Yes, it was three thirty in the afternoon, so our waitress was surely not hammered, but she went above and beyond in the courteously efficient department.

 

I always order the whole belly clams at market price, whatever that may be.  I am telling you, as a fried clam aficionado, I know it is difficult to find anything beyond clam strips at most places.  These were fried to perfection.  No blackened, burnt bits.  Perfect, golden color.  Crisp and clean tasting.  As a side note, the French fries and coleslaw were both disappointingly average.   Michele ordered what looked to be stupendous fried shrimp.  Robust in size and shape.  However, I did not ask to taste one for fear of having to reciprocate with one of my precious clams.  Incidentally, Michele was in a way returning to the scene of the crime, because the last time she visited the restaurant she and my parents busted someone near and dear in the midst of an affair.  I cannot divulge who, but I was sorry to have missed out on that one.

 

I was very into taking pictures, knowing I would blog about the restaurant.  I forced Michele to photograph this elderly couple over my shoulder, under the guise of photographing my grinning mug.  Look at that darling tying her husbands lobster bib.  She did this after their waiter took their lobsters back to the kitchen to personally shell them with a smile.  Now that is good service.

 

When I got up to look over the railing I saw this family of swans waiting in vain for my remnants.  I had not a one. 

Moore in America

Last week Sara and I went for a lovely lunch at Sfoglia, where I completely ignored the bread plate without asking to have it removed from the table.  Then I ordered the chicken cooked under a brick the second the waiter told me it came without carbs on the side.  Of course my supportive and carefree friend ordered homemade gnocchi in a creamy mint sauce for the table; the table being just us.  Sara refuses to indulge my compulsive nature.  I was very good, taking only a few small tastes of the gnocchi, just to spite her, but then she one upped me by ordering homemade ice cream in three flavors, coated in chocolate for dessert.  Who orders dessert at lunch?  I forget what it was called, but it was where my willpower ended.

 

After lunch off we went to the New York Botanical Garden to see the Henry Moore sculptures that have been placed among the fields and flowers in the garden's 250 acres.  And by the time we were done it felt like we had walked all 250 of those acres.  The exhibit is called Moore in America: Monumental Sculpture at The New York Botanical Garden.  It is the largest single gathering of Moore's work in the United States.  20 sculptures were shipped from England, three at a time, because Lloyd's of London would not insure them if more than three were loaded onto each boat.  I know this because Sara flagged down a knowledgeable ranger in a golf cart who lectured as he drove us back to the gate.  No, no trams for us - there are people in those.

 

I'm starting to think I should look for work as a flower photographer.  Enjoy the pictures.

Hussein & Obama

Last night Sara, Hussein, Hani and I went to Ilili, an amazing Lebanese restaurant on lower Fifth Avenue.  Hussein was late, so we three sat at the bar drinking exotic cocktails made from passion fruit and vodka that had been infused with herbs and spices.

 

Hussein was coming from a private fund-raiser for Barack Obama way up on Park Avenue at the apartment of someone whose name I do not remember.  When he finally arrived at the restaurant all he had to show for having been at the event was this folded cocktail napkin and one lousy photo of the senator taken over somebody's shoulder with Hussein's cell phone.  I could have killed him.  He said he was the only one there without a camera.  Why can't he remember I have a blog for times like these?

 

"Who was there?  Who was there?" we wanted to know.  "Sarah Jessica Parker", said he.  I went nuts.  "And you didn't have your camera?  Did you speak to her?  How did she look?  What was she wearing?  Who was she with?"  I demanded answers.  All I got out of him was, "She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail."  A journalist Hussein is not.  After all, I am still waiting for his guest blog about the famous Tokyo fish market.

Sara's Birthday Party

Friday night Hussein threw a spectacular birthday party for Sara at The Private Roof Club and Garden at the Gramercy Park Hotel.  Delicious cocktails and hors d'oeuvres were in abundance and were followed by a sit down dinner for 40 guests.  The sun was setting as we arrived and the light slowly changed from twilight to darkness, when the garden was lit with candles and twinkling lights. 

Doesn't Sara look divine in her new Dolce & Gabbana party dress?  Hussein, you look cute too, but don't think I didn't notice you ordered Chardonnay against my specific instructions, forcing me to load up on way too many margaritas!

I am going to post as many photos as I can, just for fun.  I still have no idea how my big schnoz ended up in so many pictures taken with my own camera... And how do all you women look so much alike?

Benoit Bistro

Saturday night we went to Benoit Bistro, the newest restaurant opened by Alain Ducasse.  Of course everyone knows Monsieur Ducasse is the world's most celebrated chef.  He owns two other Benoit Bistros; one in Paris, that dates back to 1912, and a more modern version in Tokyo.  It is worth checking out his website where you can peruse his many restaurants and all things Ducasse.

The first thing I liked about Benoit Bistro was its appearance.  It is obvious why, from the outside.  The restaurant happens to occupy the old La Cote Basque space.  The interior is classically French bistro in style.  Completely authentic and uncontrived.  While I sat and scanned the room, including the lighting, table settings and wall fixtures, I could not help but compare it to Keith McNally's Balthazar and Pastis, because it is everything they are not.  Benoit Bistro is new, and it looks new.  No nonsense, with nothing to prove.  In contrast, McNally's restaurants are overworked to the extent that they look like movie sets.  Don't get me wrong.  They are loaded with character and great food, but I was impressed by the freshness of Benoit Bistro.

It goes without saying, but I will say it anyway, the food was amazing.  I started with foie gras, followed by hand chopped beef tenderloin tartare.  Then we simply lined up a selection of desserts down the center of the table.  I love their use of doilies.  I'm a big believer in doilies.  Often people of taste make the mistake of finding them tacky, but they are wrong.  This is a matter of style one either gets, or does not. 

My story does not end however with dessert and doilies.  You see, the restaurant opened just last week and is still without its liqueur license.  At first I thought "great, I could use a night away from the booze." But at the last moment I flew into a panic and insisted we bring a bottle of red.  You are correct in thinking "a bottle"?  Could that be enough? No, it could not.

Where to go for a nightcap...  I love the word nightcap.  All through dinner I kept asking, "where should we go for a nightcap?  Cause I'm really gonna need a nightcap."  We exited and began walking east on 55th Street until we found ourselves at the St. Regis, where incidentally, Alain Ducasse recently opened Adour in the old Lespinasse space.

The hotel bar is very dark, both in lighting and decor, and it is called The King Cole Bar.  Remember the eighteenth century nursery rhyme by the same name?

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh, there's none so rare as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three

Over the bar hangs John Jacob Astor's 1906 wall-sized mural of King Cole.  Though you could never refer to the place as a hot spot, it is kind of cool in a time warp sort of way.  We must have sampled every one of their house cocktails.  I had at least four.  My favorite was the sidecar.  Do you think these two could ever smile for the camera?  Unlikely.  They must have been in desperate need of refills.

There, that's better.

bobo

My long lost friend Karyn finally came to town last weekend for an overdue visit.  Because I cannot bear to spend an afternoon shopping with her and her girlfriends, instead I joined them for dinner at bobo (spelled with a b, not a B) Saturday night.  bobo is located in a charming townhouse on the corner of West 10th Street and Seventh Avenue South.  Just like Sally's, there is no sign on the front door, which I still think is cool, whether it is or not. So Hilary and I had to call Karyn, who was waiting at the bar with Jessica and Zoe.  Of course it turned out we were literally standing at the top of the stairs you take down to enter the bar. 

The dining room is then a stair climb back up to the main floor.  As you can see from the picture, bobo is a beautiful, homey, French setting, though the lighting is way better at night.  We were in the banquette at the far end in front of the window.  The food was great and the wine was greater.  The chef is named Nicolas Cantrel, who impressively worked for Alain Ducasse for nearly a decade.

I knew I would blog about bobo when I saw what was printed at the bottom of the menu.  In addition to recycling their cooking oil, they charge each guest $1 for water, and then donate the proceeds to water related charities.  I was excited, considering the number of H2O posts I've published on the blog.  I figured this idea was unique to bobo, but then I read Sandra's comment under my Great Article About Bottled Water.

Harvest Supper, New Canaan, Connecticut

Photo of Jewel Bako, NYC

Michele, Brooke and I just had dinner and margaritas (Brooke, who's seven, drank Mexican soda) at Tequila Mockingbird in new Canaan.  It's always yum yummy, though my niece did not love her beef tacos.

After dinner we walked over to 15 Elm Street where Grace and Jack Lamb have just opened Harvest Supper.  The Lambs own my favorite sushi restaurant in the entire world, Jewel Bako on East 5th Street, which is the hottest sushi in town, and Jack's Luxury Oyster Bar nearby, which is sublime.  Since Jack practically sleeps at Jewel Bako, Grace is managing Harvest Supper.  I went in to congratulate her (them) and wish her (them) well.  Grace is a gracious beauty.  I like to remind the Lambs that I introduced Sara and Hussein to them because Sara and Hussein eat at Jewel Bako practically once a week.  If you're lucky enough to go with them you're guaranteed the royal treatment.

Grace and Jack used to live right across the street from Jewel, but moved out to Greenwich several years ago.  Harvest Supper is not the kind of restaurant you find every day in Connecticut.  It is stylish, but uncontrived.  Dark red walls, colonial portraits, fixtures from their own home.  Everything the Lambs do is visual perfection.

Their chef Michael Campbell came from New York's Blue Hill, and more recently Hearth.  His menu is right out of the New England countryside.  Seasonal.  The restaurant was packed.

I'm going to try it over Easter weekend and will report back after - hopefully with photos.  I tried to take some tonight, but it was too dark - as in cozy and moody.

203-966-5595 for your rez.

Mel, let's you and I go some time now that you're a local.